Just Like That
by pat19btvs
Summary: A series of connected one shots about what happens post-"Countdown" when Castle and Beckett go back to work after not dying. Basically, my version of this oh-so-popular "after episode" scenario. Hope you like it. Now with installment number five.
1. Day One

The Monday morning after the nuclear-fallout-that-wasn't, Kate Beckett and Richard Castle stood outside his building, at their respective, car doors. They were finally noticing just how "puffed out" the other looked. But no jokes came, no comments at all. Only small smiles of understanding. And along with them, a silent promise to never talk about why there may have been extra layers on under their coats today.

Getting in the car, Beckett soon started it up, cranking the heater. Within seconds, she pulled away from the sidewalk, and right into standstill traffic. Castle remembered the tin foil-wrapped breakfast in his hand, and began freeing it.

"Why didn't anyone tell me there was a blue moon last night?" He asked, speaking his first words since they'd left his loft.

"Geez, Castle, you act like this is the first time I've picked you up," replied Beckett with an eye roll.

"It's not just the door-to-crime-scene service," he expounded, "though you have to admit, that doesn't happen often. It's the entire morning taken as a whole, so far." Gazing much too longingly at his food, he continued, "Not only do you bring _me_ coffee and the awesomest five pounds of flatbread-cocooned-"

"-artery hardening-" She interjected.

It was called, "The Whole Nine Yards." Jam packed with scrambled egg, sausage, ham, potato, cheese and green peppers, the detective could only imagine eating such a concoction on a rare, lazy Saturday when she had no plans to leave her couch. Because she wouldn't be able to move.

She swore years of Castle's life were melting away with every enraptured bite he took.

But he'd cut in again. "-deliciousness this side of Manhattan, you do so after nine o'clock, and _then_ allow me to eat in your car. What did I do to earn such generosity?"

"Saved the city."

"Oh. Right," he spoke as though he'd forgotten. Maybe he was trying to. A beat of silence followed as they made it past the light, then, "Didn't do it alone, though."

She smiled. "Right. That's why I got a three day weekend."

He blinked and stared wordlessly, his mouth half-full of food. "One of these things is not like the other. How does three minutes of utter, breakfast perfection, rivaling even my very own 'Smorelett,' compare to-"

"Three minutes?" Her gaze snapped to his, brow lifted curiously, despite the off-putting visual she now viewed. "Castle, chew, or I'm telling your mother," she sternly ordered. "And oh please, your life is one, long weekend. So why don't I just get out my violin?"

"My mother doesn't believe in chewing," was his reply after making a show of swallowing. "Actors don't chew, not if they wanna win an Emmy. And stop interrupting m-"

"What in the freaking heck is a Smorelett?" Beckett questioned suddenly.

The author's eyes practically twinkled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She purposefully returned her focus to the road, turning them down the next block. "No, not real-"

"Wait, so if I ever have any hope of this morning repeating itself, I have to save the city again?" He asked, abruptly sending the conversation backwards.

It was a good thing she'd gotten used to verbally multitasking with him.

"I didn't say that-strongly implied it? Absolutely." A slow grin spread across her face. "But I thought you'd love feeling like a superhero. Narrowly averting certain doom..."

He shrugged, sobering somewhat. "Sure I would...if I actually felt like one. Instead it just feels-"

"-like we had dumb luck on our side?" She finished his thought.

"Exactly," he nodded, the sigh easily heard. "Besides, if you hadn't been there? There's no way I would've been that brave."

She didn't know if she believed that, but she could tell he did. "It's funny. For as gigantic as your ego is, you don't give yourself enough credit sometimes."

Over the last, two years, Beckett had learned plenty about the famous novelist riding shotgun. She'd seen just how much of his public image was bull, and how much was merely exaggerated. She'd also seen sides he wouldn't dare show in public, because playing the rouge-ish playboy helped sell books and keep those financially-invested in him, happy.

Those other sides were for a select few. Not even all his friends saw them. But his family did, and so did she. Beneath the image was an earnest, giving man with a heart almost too big, especially for this city. It was amazing how rarely it'd been walked on, considering what a target it made. He never hid it from her, even when his flippant persona came to the fore.

He would try, but it didn't work anymore. So Castle could pretend to be some cowardly writer cliché, but a coward he was not. While she had resigned to fate, to vaporizing there in the street, he refused. Knowing there was one, last, desperate, "no-way-in-hell-this-is-gonna-work" option left, he placed his hand on _a nuclear bomb,_ and took it. The writer refused to accept an unhappy ending.

"Dumb luck, remember?" Down to four-and-a-half yards, he balled up the tinfoil and dropped it in the empty, Styrofoam that'd been on the floor where his feet were, since last week. "The only thing more fickle than fate. I'd rather avoid pissing it off."

Her mouth dropped open. "'The only thing more fickle than fate'? Did you seriously just quote Derrick Storm? You stole your own character's ridiculous line? About _women_?"

Her hands squeezed the steering wheel. From complimenting to contemplating making him regret not wearing a seatbelt-this was life with Richard Castle. An emotional rollercoaster ride she couldn't get off of, despite her better judgment.

Castle shrunk down, yet defended his artistic choice nonetheless. "His wife just shot him in the stomach! He was bitter!"

"Something tells me he wasn't the only one," she retorted accusingly.

"There are many, different, therapeutic avenues, Detective..." Soon his voice was as small as his shrunken form. "...don't judge me."

"Why not?" She frowned teasingly, and just like that, her anger was gone.

Tipping his invisible hat to her, their conversation hit a natural lull, and for a while, they headed to the crime scene in companionable silence.

* * *

Well, until they were minutes out anyway, when Castle brought them backwards once more. "Technically, since I wrote Calm Before the Storm-which apparently, you not only read, but also remember better than I do-I can't steal from it."

"Fine," Beckett conceded, "then it's just tacky."

In his best Inigo Montoya, "I do not think that means what you think it means."

"Oh no, it does. But at least you're becoming a better thief. Good for you," she said, although this particular compliment was nowhere near as genuine.

"Thank you." He had earned himself two, eye rolls in a single car ride. He felt a sense of accomplishment. "Say, wanna know what my name would be if I _were_ a superhero?"

"The suspense is killing me," came her dry response.

"MightyPen," he announced with unfazed, boyish glee.

She blinked once, and after a pause, "MightyPen?"

"I'd give dastardly swords everywhere such a pinch," he pledged.

"I have no doubt," she smirked, shaking her head. "Just don't expect me to pay for your Tetanus shots."

And then he waited for the inevitable. And waited. And waited. And wai-

"Okay...can't believe I'm asking this...what name-?"

He grinned. "Lady Extraordinary. Wouldn't even need a costume." Her next question was via expression only, and he could see her already regretting it. "Because you'd be naked. Baring all for truth, justice, and the American-"

"How didn't I see that coming?" She was disappointed in herself, she really was.

"It's this face," he answered while stroking his chin self-appreciatively. "The New York Times once deemed it, 'deceptively adorable.'"

It was deceptive, all right.

"Quiet, MightyPen, or Lady Extraordinary's gonna kill you with her pinky," she threatened rather ominously, causing him to respectfully gulp.

At another red light a few minutes later, she found herself casually revealing, "Josh and I broke up, by the way."

This was his cue to choke on his final bite of bliss. He'd drawn out the experience after being admonished, slowing down considerably.

"Told you to chew, didn't I?" She could barely contain her pleased laughter.

"Uh, wow," he sputtered as soon as he was no longer dying. "Shortest Chance Ever."

Her face gave nothing away, but his certainly did. How'd he ever beat her at poker?

"Guess it was." She could see the scene-gawkers up ahead as green permitted her to go.

Unable to read her whatsoever, and wanting to not get shot, he figured he should probably act like the friend he was supposed to be. "Sorry. What happened?"

Her features visibly softened, and she opened up to him. Rather effortlessly. She seemed to do that a lot anymore. "He wanted me to go to Haiti with him. Today, no warning, for a month. Just pack up my life, walk away from the job..."

She exhaled. "For better or worse, being a cop is who I am. I love the chase, Castle, almost as much as I love getting the collar. Makes me feel closer to my mom. It's like," she cleared her throat so she didn't crack, "like I'm picking up where she left off."

"Well, as your second, biggest fan? I love being there when you do," he told her sincerely, implying her biggest fan was her mother. "You're _my_ superhero."

She rewarded his sincerity with a grateful, shy smile. "Anyway...a week would've maybe been a different story, but a month? It sounded like an ultimatum. Josh wanted me to be somebody I'm not. And if I'm being honest, I wanted him to be somebody he wasn't. That isn't fair."

"Maybe not, but wanting to be understood? Wanting to be accepted for who you are, and who you aren't? Isn't a bad thing," he put in his two cents as she parked across the street from their alleyway destination.

"You're right." She knew he was. "Except, when you both wake up every day still stuck at square one because you keep trying to force it, then the whole relationship is probably a bad thing. Or just the wrong thing."

He gave her hand a supportive squeeze. "Ah. A lesson it took me two divorces to learn. And one, ill-advised, attempt at a do-over," he said lightly, drawing another smile. "You seem okay. Considering."

Beckett simply couldn't resist what followed. "I am. I mean, he _was_ obscenely attractive, especially right after he'd gotten out of the shower and would just drip from-"

"Hey, look! A dead person!"

Just like that, Castle snatched his coffee and was out the door.

* * *

"I know who our victim is! Not only that, I know who killed him," Castle exclaimed as Beckett (sipping her coffee) joined he, and a crouched Lanie and Esposito at the body.

"Guy's buried under a piano, bro," Esposito pointed out, which was his way of saying the writer couldn't possibly have a single, damn clue.

"Yes, yes he is," agreed Castle excitedly. "Which is how I know. It's Marvin Acme! Our murderer, gentleman and ladies, is none other than Judge Doom himself. He's trying to take over Toontown!"

Then _it _happened. Detective Kate Beckett giggled. Unmistakably, without a doubt, giggled. She obviously meant to cover her mouth, but she was too late. The sound sent shockwaves of shock through everyone present.

The first year Castle shadowed her, her exasperated, annoyed glares whenever he'd spout some joke "theory" at a crime scene were honest reactions. Over the second year, they became more and more for show, until he'd turned from shadow into partner. Entering year three now, she'd ditched the pretense, and would just quietly smile.

Yet something was different today, because _it _happened.

"Who found the body?" Beckett asked, hurriedly adopting her most authoritative tone.

The medical examiner gave her boyfriend a helpful elbow in the side.

"Uh, she's...yeah, over there." Esposito gestured back up the alleyway to where a pair of uniformed officers were questioning a pink-haired woman on their side of the barricade.

"C'mon, Castle, let's...see if she knows anything," Kate shoved her coffee cup into his free hand, turned right around, and fled very professionally towards the witness.

She'd made eye contact with no one.

Castle followed numbly and obediently. He was no fool. Besides, his brain was still processing what he'd heard, and its potential meaning. He barely greeted Ryan as the other detective passed him by.

"Hope you're ready to pay up, baby," Lanie said once Beckett and Castle were out of earshot.

Esposito stared at her, then stared at the retreating duo, then stared at Lanie again. He went for denial. "Naw. No."

"Mmhmm. 'Fraid so." Outside, Lanie was maintaining the proper attitude one should have when dealing with someone crushed by a piano.

Inside? Not so much. Inside, she didn't know what she wanted more-to kick Kate's behind for letting her be just as blindsided as the boys, or to thank Kate for the lovely nest egg of winnings she was soon to receive.

When Ryan reached them, his, "I'm completely lost" look was priceless.

"What's up with those two? I miss somethin'?" He wondered, and the couple shared a private smirk. "_Man_, I did, didn't I? And...you guys aren't gonna tell me, are you?"

They offered nothing.

"Okay, be that way. It's fine. Because just for this? You're sitting with Jenny's Crazy Uncle Burt at the reception. And no, they don't call him that 'cause he's wacky fun. He's just whacked."

* * *

At just after one in the afternoon, Beckett and Castle pulled into the precinct's parking garage. Once the piano was moved, the victim's wallet provided I.D. Then they went to interview next of kin, and then Lanie had preliminary autopsy findings. They kept busy with the case, and Castle kept unusually quiet.

Their journey around the city, unlike this morning's, had been banter-free. Beckett was about to say something, anything to get them back in _their_ rhythm, when-

"Love you, y'know." Talk about going all in.

She had to hand it to Castle. Unintentionally or not, she'd opened a door earlier, and he not only walked through it, he locked it shut behind him. He sounded so offhanded, but he looked terrified. That was how she knew it was real.

She turned off the car. "Just like that?"

He watched her nervously, wanting her to face him, but dreading it at the same time. "Just like that."

It was almost funny to think not that long ago, her biggest fear about getting involved with Richard Castle was that she'd quickly become yesterday's woman. Her biggest, current fear? Becoming _the_ woman, his woman...and nothing else. And she needed everything. She needed to still be his partner and his best friend. She wanted to build on their relationship, both working and personal-not completely redefine it.

Nor did she want to redefine herself. She was a detective with the NYPD. It took her a long time to carve out that identity, and even longer to garner respect. She didn't want the first thing people thought upon seeing her to be, 'Look, it's Rick Castle's girl.'

But she pushed past that fear, because it wasn't rejection that terrified him. Those "case-necessary" kisses they didn't bring up? They could write off every other moment, every flirt, but not them. They couldn't deny their feelings were as strong as they were mutual.

He didn't want their relationship to lose anything either, or her to. He _understood_ her fear, shared her fear, but still went for it. Brave man. She didn't know what would happen, but at least they'd stumble into this on the same page. Not to mention together.

"Eh, kind of figured," she finally spoke, nonchalant.

With those words, she firmly defined how they'd be with each other from this point forward. Which seemed comfortably familiar. At their core, they would remain who they'd always been. Both immediately relaxed.

And Castle didn't miss a beat. "Shut the front door."

She turned toward him. "Speaking of stealing..."

"What can I say? I'm a hack."

"Hmm. You've only got eleven steps to go. I'm so proud," she grinned.

Now his eyes got to roll. "That means a lot." Then he ventured, "Did you really...?"

"Uh huh," she confirmed. "So how about telling me something I don't know?"

"You love me back." Some of the fear crept back in at that bold statement.

Beckett entwined her fingers in his, her smile wide and reassuring. "Nope, sorry, already knew that, too."

"Just like that?" He parroted back her own question.

"Just like that. Wanna try again, Ricky?"

Honestly, if she didn't have a job, she could do this all day. It was entirely much too fun.

He'd gone from looking terrified to looking as if he'd won the lottery on Christmas Day. "Nah, think I'll try quitting while I'm ahead this time. Dare I ask what's next?"

"Here's what won't be. When this gets out? I am _not_ your girlfriend," she poked him in the chest to emphasize this. "Make sure Paula knows that. Being 'romantically linked' to Richard Castle is going to be bad enough."

She was kidding, but then again, she wasn't. It all tied back into the fear. The only way to hang onto her identity in the public eye was to cement it before the media did.

Castle huffed. "Like I'd wanna be your boyfriend."

"Partners, then?" She suggested, knowing he got it.

"In every sense of the word," he agreed softly, eyebrows waggling.

* * *

They were in the elevator on the way up to Homicide when Beckett pushed the "emergency stop" button. She couldn't go sit at her desk yet. They'd just admitted to loving each other like it was no big deal, and in one sense it wasn't, but she wasn't ready to just move on with her day and pick "them" up later.

Plus, she wanted to tease him some more.

"You couldn't have waited, I dunno, a day before lamely claiming to love me?" She questioned before he'd even really figured out the elevator had stopped.

"Lamely?" He bristled melodramatically.

"I did just get out of a relationship," she kept going.

"Unlike Doctor Motorcycle Boy, I value my chance, and wasn't going to miss out," he returned her volley. "It's not like you were all that 'broken up' about it."

She shot him a "very funny" look. "That's not the point. There're, you know, rules. Social rules."

He played faux-surprise like a pro. "There are? Darn. It's no fun breaking rules you've never heard of."

"Of course you haven't. Because you have no actual social skills. Though you fake it surprisingly well. For a man-whore," she needled. It was her best yet. Medal-worthy.

He resisted the urge to tip his invisible hat again. That would ruin the game. "I'd be hurt if I weren't oddly turned on. Besides, then wouldn't that make you-?"

"-out of my mind?"

He invaded her personal space at that, until she had none left. Her back was against the rear wall of the elevator. "I find crazy people very, very hot, have I mentioned that?"

His voice had taken on a husky quality.

"If you call me anything deep-fried..." Beckett vaguely warned, low.

"Kate Beckett a guilty pleasure? Never." He was insulted by the idea on her behalf.

He'd lowered his head so his mouth was right at her ear. She felt his breath against her hair, and what he spoke next, he spoke slow and deliberate. This got awful sexy awful fast.

"You're...you're a finely-cooked filet mignon. The kind that's just...the right...shade...of pink. The kind I could eat every day. Better yet, every meal."

Well, hell.

"You, uh...don't think you'd get tired of it?" She stuttered in reply, feeling herself blush. "The same thing, all the time?"

"Not when it's something I love," he promised, and pulling back, he saw her cheeks. "Told ya. Pink." The sexiness had left the building.

"Wh-what?" She asked as her equilibrium returned.

He began to gloat victoriously. "Showed you lam-"

Yanking him by the lapels of his coat, she reversed their positions, slammed him against the elevator, and proceeded to plant one on him that Natalie-Freaking-Rhodes wished she had the skills to match. When sufficiently satisfied, she released him.

While Castle clung to the rail, she pushed the button to get them moving.

"I win," she declared, impish.

Air returned to his lungs and strength to his legs, he also had a declaration. "I am well-struck! But our battle has only just begun! Next time we meet, Lady Extraordinary, the tide will have-"

"-dragged the idiot I had to fall for out to sea."

He grumbled, "You aren't gonna stop interrupting me, are you?"

"Writers should be read, not heard," she joked, on fire today.

"Henh. Infinite Henh."

"Now will you shut up so we can go solve a murder?" She requested in a harsh whisper as their floor approached. "If we make halfway decent progress, maybe we'll get outta here early enough for my partner to buy me dinner."

"Ooh! You know what I could go for?" He equaled her volume, the grin back.

"Yeah, and I guarantee it won't be anywhere on tonight's menu."

With her eye roll hat trick, he did a little fist pump.

As the doors slid open, she got in the parting shot. "But there'll be others. Can't let you blow your chance too soon, can I? Stamina, Castle-it's all about stamina."

"Tease. Amazing, amazing tease," he said, in step with her as they left the elevator.

She chuckled, and just like that, they went to work.


	2. Two Weeks In

Thanks everyone for your kind words for the first go 'round. They were much appreciated. :-)

* * *

"...practically his own grandpa!"

"He was not his own grandpa. That doesn't even make any sense."

"I'm pretty sure I said 'practically.' And nothing about inbreeding makes sense, Beckett. But I promise you-there was some definite genetic immorality going on amongst the branches of that family's ugly, ugly tree."

"'Genetic immorality'? What is it with writers? Why can't you just call something what it is?"

Castle turned away from the stove and the pot of soup he was monitoring (his contribution to this evening's meal) to offer a perfectly good explanation, but Beckett still had the knife he'd given her to dice the tomatoes, and she sat there on the barstool, jabbing it in his direction.

"Because you think you're so damn clever, that's why," she answered for him. "You've all got this bizarre compulsion to try and outthink the English language."

"It's not about outthinking language..." Castle tried with caution. "It's about showing people what it's capable of. The heights it can reach."

Beckett snorted, and let the knife clatter onto the island. "Ha. You go right ahead and keep sellin' that to yourself, Poe."

"Sarcasm? Really?" His disappointment at her reaction was multilayered. "I thought you better than that."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," she promised, and he would've sworn she was nothing less than serious. "If I'm still starving in half-an-hour? I'll start thinking it's funny when the toilet flushes."

An honest laugh came out before he could smirk. Just when he thought she'd run out of surprises. "Interesting. So the hungrier you are, the...less complicated, your sense of humor becomes." He turned back to his soup, removed the lid, and stirred. "Begs the question then-how hungry do you have to be for those cartoons in the New Yorker to seem hilarious?"

"It gets less complicated, Castle, not more complicated."

"Huh." In one, monosyllabic utterance, he copped to his error. "Give me a second, I'll come up with something...cleverer." Here, his smirk had free reign.

He almost heard hers grow as she replied, "Please, don't bother."

"It's no bother at all," he insisted, re-covering the pot and facing her again. "I think I should point out? Not once have I disparaged your profession, not once." He looked skyward for strength. "I can't believe I partnered up with someone who clearly has no respect for what I do."

"Hey, the truth hurts," she shrugged while he suddenly leaned over the island so they were nose-to-nose. "Maybe you oughta be more careful about whom you fall in-"

"Did your apartment blow up again? Was it my dad?" Came the unexpected, concerned voice of Castle's only child.

Both adults' heads instantaneously whipped around, their faces the color of red-handed embarrassment. When had she showed up?

"Alexis! My darling daughter who's supposed to be having dinner with her gentleman caller and his cruel parents who just wished they had a darling instead of a-Ow."

"Thanks," Alexis said to the detective who'd just socked her father in the arm.

Clutching where the bruise would soon be, Castle chose to see Beckett's physical abuse of him as the latest expression of her affection. It worked for third graders. He'd admit, however, that other expressions were more preferable.

For seventeen days, unbeknownst to anyone other than themselves, he and Kate had been full partners. Staying a secret, staying private, wasn't a conscious choice they'd made, it had just worked out that way so far. At the precinct, they fell into their usual version of professionalism, and outside the precinct, intimate won out over big.

That meant sticking to places like Remy's when they weren't at home. Most nights though, they either ordered in at his place or hers, or cooked in, like tonight. Now that he thought about it, Castle couldn't believe they'd managed to avoid his family this long. More than that, he couldn't believe no one had caught on.

He liked that these seventeen days, of settling in and adjusting and exploring, had been _their business_, and no one else's-he knew Beckett felt the same. It'd gone smoother than either of them honestly expected, becoming comfortable almost right away. Not having to deal with outside commentary could only have helped.

Surprised as they were by his offspring's early return, they exchanged a, "Oh well," look. They'd planned to tell Alexis a few hours from now, anyhow. Giving her first commentary privileges seemed right. Yet with his superstitious nature, Castle should've known better than to plan anything.

A deity was having a hell of a guffaw somewhere.

"Believe me, it was my pleasure. It's a reflex anymore anyway," Kate smiled too broadly at Alexis. "But to answer your question, no, my apartment didn't blow up. Though I'm sure if it does, it'll definitely be your dad's fault."

Castle rubbed his hands together, plotting. "Give me time."

Alexis eerily mimicked Beckett's eye roll. "You aren't still working on that case, are you?"

"We were just discussing it, as a matter of fact," he said, retreating to the stove.

Leaving Beckett to actually address the question. "We closed it this afternoon."

"It was the uncle," Castle dished, post-case excitement renewed. "He was scheming to disappear the real will, then plant a forged will in its place, naming him winner of the family lottery...the whole case was a mystery novelist's favorite cliché come to life."

Alexis claimed the stool beside Beckett, looking the picture of innocence. "Then how come you didn't figure it out right away?"

Beckett snickered. "Ooh, she's good."

"At turning my own teachings against me? That she is." His face was a mixture of betrayal and scorn. "_Anakin_."

"A prequel reference, Dad?" Alexis winced. His pedestal may have just lost a few feet. "Be ashamed of yourself."

"Forgive me. Weak moment, won't happen again." He put his hand over his heart. "The Dark Side can tempt even the most committed of Jedis."

Beckett's smile went from broad, to small and more than a little envious. "You wanna join us? I made my mom's pasta salad; it's been in the fridge for, many hours now," she told Alexis, only somewhat kidding. "I've just been waiting on the master chef over there."

Alexis sniffed. "I know that smell. That's his four cheese, chunky tomato soup. It's totally worth it," she assured.

"Thank you! Finally some support," Castle cried, feeling vindicated.

His outburst was ignored.

"But yeah, I'd love to." Alexis smiled gratefully at Beckett. "Didn't really get a chance to eat. Unless you were..." She hesitated, eyes shifting between her father and his dinner guest. "I mean, I wouldn't wanna interrupt anything...not that I'm saying there's something to interrupt," she added, hasty, "but if there is, you know you could tell me, right?"

The girl seemed so hopeful. Castle looked to his partner, who nodded her nervous consent.

"There...might possibly be," he spoke carefully.

Alexis' hand went to her mouth as she gasped. Her wide, blue eyes were wide trained on the detective. "Oh my god. For real?"

"Yes," confirmed Beckett, still nervous.

"What, you didn't believe me? Me? Your loving, caring, adoring father? I was at your beck and call when you had the measles! Day or night!" Castle reminded his daughter, feigning devastation. "I raided every Ben and Jerry's in the city looking for Half-Baked when Mr. Tumnus died!"

"Sorry?" Alexis offered in a way that suggested she wasn't. She turned back to Beckett. "How long?"

"Two weeks."

The teenager's ginger brows flew upward following Beckett's reply. "Two _weeks_? Wow. Normally he can only keep a secret for fifteen minutes, tops."

"That's it," Castle interjected with as much authority as a whining man could muster, "guess who won't get to experience this culinary delight over which I've slaved?"

"Aw, zip it, you big baby," An unsympathetic Beckett fired back. "Somehow, you got three women who know you far too well, to play dumb and love you anyway. I forget why exactly, but it might come back to me." Then she stared him down. "Once I'm fed."

He weakly came back with, "Do I need to mention that two of those women share my DNA?"

She quipped, "And despite that handicap..."

"I'm just saying," he frowned, "it would've been a lot more comforting if Alexis didn't legally have to."

"Actually, loving your parents stops being binding as soon as kids turn thirteen," Alexis supplied, appearing quite entertained. "It's been a hundred percent voluntary ever since."

"I think I might cry." He wiped away a non-existent tear, but his voice was sincere.

"I'll make you cry if we aren't eating in the next two minutes," Beckett casually vowed, which only made it worse.

"It needs to simmer!" He protested, and she held up her pinky. "Ow." They didn't notice Alexis' befuddlement at their private (semi) joke. "Fine, what the 'Lady' wants, the 'Lady' gets. For now. But...well, you know what they say about payback."

"That in hindsight, it wasn't Mel Gibson's worst movie?"

Alexis was awed by Beckett's skill. "You should just give up, Dad. It's getting kind of embarrassing to watch. I think you've met your match."

He forgot his humorous faux-hurt and smiled genuinely. "No argument here, my Young Yodette."

Then they saw Alexis puzzle something through in her head. "Wait...three...you said three women," she reminded Beckett slowly. "Which means..." She got a nod. "You do? Really?"

Beckett matched her partner's smile. "Really."

"So first you spend all this time doing the world's worst job of pretending you're not even interested in each other, then two weeks ago suddenly everything's changed and you're both in love?" Alexis was having trouble reconciling this. She also seemed more distracted than she had been a second ago. "I'm glad for you guys and all, you have no idea, but, just like that?"

The coupled pair didn't want to chuckle at that (for the already confused girl's sake), but they did.

Alexis stared at them for a silent beat. "I don't get it."

"Felt like the right time, Lex," Beckett tried, while Castle got happily stuck at the nickname.

He sometimes forgot they had a relationship that didn't include him.

"But how'd you know it was right?"

Castle noted a smidge of desperation in his daughter's question.

Beckett picked up on it too, searching for how to respond. "Because...because I think we realized, and your dad can jump in whenever he wants," she said pointedly, "we were ready for it to be."

"What kind of answer was that?" Both Castles asked, implying it was no answer at all.

Beckett made sure she focused on the bigger Castle. "One I could've used some help with."

"All you had to do was ask..." The look she gave him could have killed Death itself.

"Well?" The women impatiently prodded together.

His eyes were pleading to Beckett for trust, and for help in dodging the question, while saying aloud-

"...but, after dinner. Soup's on!"

"It better be." With those few words, she relented, trust given.

Then in an exaggerated German accent, he spoke, "Who wants to ladle!"

* * *

"It's a wonder you're not ridiculously fat."

Dinner was over, Alexis was in the shower, and as Castle made such a volatile statement, he and Beckett were buried together under blankets on the sofa.

"You know, just because I've been letting you kiss me lately, doesn't mean I won't break something off," she said evenly.

"I...I wasn't finished," he squeaked out in a choke. "And in no way would the sentence fit the crime even if I were." He cast a wary, sideways glance her way, then continued before his groin paid an unfair price. "It's a wonder _because_...if my nanny had fed me as well as your mother must've fed you as a child, I'd be washing myself with a rag on a stick every night."

When she laughed, he knew she understood the reference, and as a result, he had no choice but to love her even more.

"Mom didn't go off-recipe very often, but when she did, she wanted to make sure nobody wished she hadn't afterwards." Beckett smiled as she remembered the woman who drove her. "She kept trying 'til she got it right."

"Sounds like someone I know. Someone who'll refuse to give up-professionally or romantically-unless she's positive she's found her man." Grinning, he started fishing for compliments. "'Course, in my opinion, she recently hit the proverbial jackpot in the latter category..."

"Except I'd be willing to bet, this nameless someone, whoever she is? Has told you your opinion doesn't count for much," she responded dryly. "What's hers?"

"You'd have to ask her."

"Nah, don't think I do."

Following that exchange, they shared a languorous kiss that was as much for warmth as it was for expressing how much she agreed with his opinion. Because he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing it. And like an idiot, he sort of loved her for that, too.

He wondered if she could feel him shiver. "When did it get so cold in here?"

"It's all this lousy, Smarch weather," she joked.

It had nothing to do with that thing they'd never talk about. Nothing. _Zilch_.

"So not only do you enjoy graphic novels, baseball, con movies, magic, and a good book, you also appreciate the quote-ability of the Simpsons?" He tried to snuggle closer, despite the physical impossibility. "You are so my perfect woman," he sighed.

"Sounding a little possessive there, Castle."

"If you'd rather possess me..."

"You would look good in a collar..." She considered thoughtfully. "I already know I own you, though. I don't need to brag about it." Shooting him a quick grin, she then nudged him under the blanket. "All right, before Alexis comes back down, why the stall earlier?"

He breathed deep, ready to be serious for a bit. "If I gave her my answer, I would've had to tell her about my thrilling, pseudo-heroics, and as much as I hate hiding things from her, it's not something she needs to know. Ever."

"Why?" She gently prompted.

He looked questioningly back at her. "Same reason you haven't told your dad, I'm assuming."

Her head shook. "Not that. I get that. I meant why would _we_," he liked her emphasis, "have anything to do with the bomb?"

"Mostly? It gives the answer context. By our third, near death experience, I was severely doubting my tale-weaving talents," he revealed, and then took another breath. "It's the classic, 'tragic romance' setup. Confessing your feelings to the woman you love in those final, few moments. But every time, I drew the world's biggest blank. It was worse than writer's block-it felt like karmic punishment.

"Then I figured it out. I didn't want our story to be tragic. In a book, in a movie, in a play, tragedy's great. Indescribably moving, cathartic, and almost guaranteed money. In reality? Tragedy kinda sucks. If I told you, and we didn't make it? That would've given us both just enough time to imagine what we might've been-if I'd had the nerve to say something sooner. And I would've spent those final, few moments feeling like a jackass.

"Don't take this wrong way, but I wanted to share my life with you, not my death."

Well that was more emotional than he'd intended. Not that he was crying or anything. Right.

Beckett's hand squeezed his as he finished, and he felt her lips kiss his forehead. "That, um...that still doesn't answer the question."

"Because of that epiphany in the face of certain doom, as soon as I heard Josh struck out, I saw a moment begging to be seized," he went on after finding his voice. "My storyteller wanted to wait, to set a better scene, to make it big and dramatic. But to the rest of me, it felt right; it felt real.

"You were single, I was single, we weren't in mortal danger...and we'd been working so well ever since I got back. Not just during cases, either. You've turned into my best friend, Kate," he admitted, trying to push back the emotions and butch up.

"Don't tell Lanie? But, ditto." The corners of her mouth curved up.

"Who knows who would've happened had I wasted any more time?" He rhetorically mused. "'Lawyer Luge Boy'? 'Professor Base-Jumping Boy'? 'C.E.O. M.M.A. Boy?'"

And "Serious Castle" made himself scarce.

She rolled her eyes. "Wiseass."

He winked. "But not jackass."

Her head rested on his shoulder. "Love you, y'know. 'Lot more than I probably should."

"Ditt..._hey_." He looked down at her. "I think I'm offended."

"You'll live," she said confidently. "How much of that are you gonna tell Alexis?"

"That's the best part-none of it." Why? He was going to blow her mind. "Those questions weren't about us."

She inhaled in realization, and just like that, they were on the same, freaky wavelength they shared when theorizing together. "They were about her and Ashley."

"She comes home early, she didn't eat..." He jumped in.

"Uh oh. They probably had their first fight," she deduced.

"Yep. The first love bliss bubble hath burst."

"Quit smiling. They didn't break up."

She'd just burst _his_ bubble. "They didn't?"

"Did she run upstairs when she got home, slam her door and blare 'Depression's Greatest Hits' for your whole building to hear?" She asked him.

He ran the night's events back in his head. "No?"

"Then they didn't break up. My guess? Alexis told Ashley she loved him..."

"Oh god." He felt himself paling.

"...and he didn't say it back. Or at least not quick enough."

Castle almost felt sorry for Ashley. The poor bastard. He had never been more glad that he'd said it first.

"I don't know whether I should be relieved, or whether I should put my perfect murder scenario to the test." He was in uncharted waters. "You're gonna help me survive this, right?"

Her response was simple. "I'm your partner, aren't I?"

"Good, thanks." He meant that. "Because I don't think 'Cool Dad' is gonna be enough this time." This brought him to the reason they'd wanted to tell Alexis about them now. "After the crisis is over, and Alexis has wallowed over ice cream in female solidarity...you're still staying?"

No, they hadn't stayed over yet. Nor had sex. For as quick as Heat and Rook got it on, Beckett and Castle were in no rush. They still weren't, because in reality, there were no readers to satisfy, only themselves. Tonight was about not going to bed alone.

"Unless you'd rather wait and see how this goes first," Beckett gave him a gracious out, however unconvincingly. "We can always-"

"If Alexis thinks you're leaving because of her, she'll just feel worse," he interrupted. "It was an open, Castle-clan invitation even before we started making out, you know that." His goofy smirk was out in force. "As long as you want to-"

"I wanna stay, Rick." She didn't hesitate in her honesty. "I'm getting kind of tired of waking up in an empty apartment. Also, I feel too fat to go anywhere right now," she tacked on. "I blame your soup, which-oh. It was pretty worth it."

"And the award for 'Longest Delayed Afterthought' goes to..."

"Isn't it the afterthought that counts?" She punned.

Oh yeah, she was his matc-

"Hey-hey-hey! Hands above blankets!"

_Where did Alexis keep coming from_?

Their hands were fast in plain sight.

"Am I gonna hafta separate you two? Sheesh." The redhead had a grin as sly as her father's. But sitting on the floor against the sofa, her grin faltered. "So, um, I bet you're wondering why I came home early..."

"Early?" The partners echoed.

"We didn't-" Beckett began.

Castle closed it out. "-even notice."

Alexis didn't buy it for a second. "Sure. Anyway..."

Truth be told, neither did they.


	3. On the 35th Day

Thanks everyone for your kind words again. Still much appreciated. I'm having fun :-)

* * *

Castle got shot today. Possibly, Kate supposed, "grazed" was more accurate. "Nicked" would do. He was fine; he joked that the accursed paper-cut he'd suffered had been more life-threatening. He still bled, though. And Kate had seen that flash of fear in his eyes.

Proving that a month later, their trio of near-death experiences hadn't yet gone stale. Until the shot, they'd believed otherwise. Or the graze. Or the nick. Until whatever-she-called-it exposed just how fresh those experiences were.

He hadn't even been doing anything stupid (he'd wizened up on the job, like every...cop did). Made it hard to justify yelling at him, but she couldn't stop.

She'd dragged him into the break room at the precinct, locked the doors, closed the blinds, and unloaded on him. They were together now, she'd said. He'd worn her down. He didn't need to keep doing this. It wasn't his job.

And that? Just pissed him off. She didn't blame him-she was pissed at herself. Had things been reversed, with him telling her to quit, she would've been livid.

She was the one who'd made the call a month ago. She was the one who wanted everything, who wanted a partner in all facets of her life. She'd chosen to be that selfish.

(Not that Castle wouldn't have fought her tooth and nail if she'd chosen different.)

She needed him to be in that chair every day. Not just because he was fun, or because she'd miss seeing him near constantly. It was about trust. She trusted him on some instinctual level, not even questioning that he had her back.

He asked questions she forgot to; she asked questions _he_ forgot to. He held back when she pushed; _she_ held back when he pushed. They worked though the pieces together, made them fit. They were a team. Like Ryan and Esposito were a team.

You couldn't force that kind of simpatico. You could hone it, but if it wasn't already there to begin with, it was never going to be. That's why she needed him in that chair.

Which, even after all this time, she was still trying to get used to. To not see it as a regret waiting to happen. If the next shot wasn't a graze, or a nick, where would she be then? How could she look Martha and Alexis in the eye and tell them..._that_? Especially when it would be her fault. Because she was too selfish to tell him to retire his vest and stick to writing.

And these were just the musings of Kate the Cop. She refused to think about how the other Kate would react. She hadn't lied to Alexis-she'd been ready for "them" to be right, for reasons much like Castle's. So she went zero-to-love in sixty seconds. Or in 63,072,000 seconds, depending on your point-of-view.

The thought of having it taken away after diving in so willingly, and it being out of her control...

She'd been gut-punched once before. Exactly why she avoided this exact dilemma for such a long time. Damn it.

* * *

Walking down the basement stairs of the Old Haunt, Kate didn't know what to expect. About three hours or so after their first, actual, two-sided fight (unlike those others when she'd get legitimately mad, and he would stand there and take it), he called her, asked her to come. She was in the wrong for once, and he was making the first move? Now she was even more pissed at herself than before.

Would he be drunk? Would he still be angry? She'd never seen Castle truly mad at her until today, and she truly hated it. If this was how he'd felt when...well, then she had something else to be sorry for. Would he try shouldering the blame and have her feeling worse?

He started talking before she'd reached the bottom. "I've been thinking."

She needed to gauge where he was at, and this was the quickest way to do it. "Why do those three words always only sound terrifying when they're comin' from you?"

He was writing the old-fashioned way in this old, beat-up, "Masterpiece Theater" chair he bought off eBay. It was the only change he'd made down here. Besides un-spackling the buckshot holes because "they added character."

She knew he came here sometimes when he couldn't write at the loft, because Martha was being too Martha, or because Alexis and Ashley were still very much together (Kate's theory had been backwards-Alexis was the one who didn't say the "L" word, not him), but today Castle came here to be away from her.

"Because you weren't alive to hear Hitler say them. If you were, I'd come out way ahead by comparison." He hadn't taken his eyes off his notebook as he spoke.

Kate allowed herself to sigh in relief.

"Except he still would've been saying them _in_ _German_, and just my luck, I took French in high school," she told him, walking over more surely now.

"Isn't a total loss-at least you would've known how to surrender. And so efficiently, too," he joked. When he looked up finally, she wasn't in front of him anymore. "Aha! That explains how you do that thing with..." Her arms were slipping around his neck from behind. "...your toast."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down over his shoulder (his grazed/nicked shoulder) at the filled pages.

"For what? Not being overly fond of my getting caught in a hail of bullets?" He questioned in reply. "Neither am I. Don Johnson made it look much cooler."

Yes, she rolled her eyes. How could she not? She could tell by the sound of his voice how pleased he was with himself. And only he would be pleased about referencing "Miami Vice" and one of his book titles almost back-to-back.

"Frankly, I'm glad we see eye-to-eye on that. Otherwise I don't think I'd be very comfortable letting you this close to my neck," he joked.

Since he brought it up, she gave his neck a quick squeeze before continuing her delayed apology. "I'm sorry for how I reacted, okay? I could've...expressed how much I hated what almost happened today...better. Calmer. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, and I'm, yeah, sorry."

"Can I be sorry too?" He asked, grabbing her right hand and hinting for her to come around the chair.

He set his notebook on the floor, sliding the pencil in its spine.

"No," she denied him, taking up residence in his just-emptied lap.

"But I don't wanna feel left out," he persisted.

"Maybe next time." Then she thought about it. "What am I saying? _Definitely_ next time."

He sighed, hugging her around the waist. "Can I at least tell you what I've been thinking, now? I swear it's relevant and even has a point."

Kate raised her brow. "Relevant _and_ a point? I've gotta hear this."

"Whenever Meredith or Gina and I would fight, argue or just have glaring contests across a room for hours on end, we'd _despise _each other. I mean it. It didn't matter how big or ridiculous the fight was, we'd look at each other and not even remember why we got together in the first place. There'd be nothing there.

"When the fight was over? We'd storm off to separate, distant corners long enough to be able to pretend it didn't happen. Looking back, I probably should've seen the divorce papers coming. And the adultery. Both times.

"When you and I fought today? I knew why our odds are astronomically higher; I know why we're different." He took a dramatic pause. "First, I didn't despise you."

She'd held her breath for that? "Gee, thanks."

"_Second_," he plowed ahead undeterred, "after I stormed off out of habit, later I realized I hadn't wanted to-I wanted to stay. I'd rather be around an angry Beckett than no Beckett. Does that make me a masochist? Maybe. I am owned by an intimidatingly tall woman skilled in the art of restraint, after all."

Somehow she figured he had several meanings in mind with a certain word in that last sentence.

"But more to the point," he said for her benefit, "even angry, there was something there. There always is. Something resembling actual, honest-to-god, human affection. Which doesn't just go up in smoke when it gets a little bumpy. Kind of a new experience-outside of my family-but I adapt fast and, it's a refreshing change. So I'll never hide from you in here again. From my mother, however..."

"Are you done?" She asked, her voice for some reason thicker than before. "'Cause I was serious about apologizing, and I don't need you..._being you_...and letting me off the hook, masochist or not."

"Who else am I supposed to be? Batman?" Naturally, he got lost in the fantasy. "Hmm..."

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "And that part at the end was you trying to apologize without actually doing it, don't think I didn't notice. Why can't you ever listen to me?"

"Fine," he caved begrudgingly. "You're forgiven for allowing your unflappable, 'Robo-Cop'-esque exterior to break, letting your emotions run wild and amuck, and for forgetting we're in this together. Happy?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," she nodded. "Thank you."

She placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I almost can't wait for our next squabble," he smiled, sounding honestly excited. "What do you think it'll be about?"

"I'm sure it won't be long before we find out," she deadpanned. "Here's hoping it'll have nothing to do with days like today, and everything to do with you refusing to rinse a plate before putting it in the dishwasher."

"I shouldn't have to! That's the dishwasher's job!" He argued immediately. "And until the inevitable occurs, when we're all enslaved by Cylo-"

"Just, don't die on me, Castle." Apparently she wasn't ready to let this go. Even so, as soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. It wasn't fair, asking for that. "You'd be-"

"-way too heavy," they spoke at the same time.

"Jinx," he called right away.

Kate smiled, grateful that he'd went along with the joke instead.

"Thanks for, uh, making it miss," he said soberly a moment later, holding her tighter. Right. She had yanked him out of harm's way, hadn't she? "What's the score now?"

Kate pointed to her closed mouth, arching an expectant eyebrow at him.

He chuckled, and his mood switched back to light. "Such a stickler for the rules, Detective...you may speak."

"I don't keep it," she answered instantly.

"Me neither. Too high."

There was something Kate had to know. Something she couldn't figure out even after three years. "How do you...? How can you walk with me into...what we walked into? Me, Ryan, Esposito...we had training drilled into us. Again and again and again, so when it was real, and we didn't know what was waiting behind a door, we wouldn't completely panic."

"Oh, I've panicked on occasion," he readily admitted while adding, "Panicked _manly_. Except for when I got bit by that vampire, and c'mon, who wouldn't shriek a little?"

"Lockerby was _not_ a-"

"But it's simple-I trust you, that's how." He had a lot of faith in her. It was a little overwhelming. "And yeah, I get that you don't need me there, but _I_ need to be there, hopefully helping my partner stay alive," he told her, his own emotions running amuck. "Can never have enough people watching your back, right?"

"I-I do. Need you there," she stuttered. One, because she was saying it aloud, and two, because it killed her that he thought otherwise. "I wish I didn't, for Alexis' sake, for Martha's, for yours...but I do."

Things went quiet as he took that in. "Don't worry, if I'm ever questioned, you wouldn't, nay couldn't, have just said that."

"I'm not ashamed of it." She wanted to make him understand. "Scared? Yeah. The way I trust you? Royce is the only other person I let in like that. When he retired, it felt like he was abandoning me. That wasn't what he was doing, but at the time..."

She shook her head at her complicated past. "Let's just say I took it badly. After I made detective, all I wanted was to be on my own. I eventually inherited the boys, but it wasn't...it's different. Then you showed up."

"I'm not Royce," he swore. "As long as it's up to me-"

Now she shook her head at him. "I know you aren't; you came back. Once when I didn't even want you to," she smiled, then asked a question she already knew the answer to. "But if it was up to Alexis, if she asked, you'd quit, wouldn't you?"

"She'd never ask," he hedged.

"But if she did?" She pressed.

"If she did," he reluctantly nodded.

Good, that was good. Meant there was a limit to what he'd risk, so Alexis wouldn't have to ask.

"Doesn't mean you'd be rid of me, though." Oh, he was still talking. "I might turn in my choco-tastic badge, but I wouldn't turn in my 'I (Heart) Kate Beckett' t-shirt. It's silk-very classy."

She could only stare. "Tell me you don't really..."

"I will," he promised with a grin, which was quickly replaced by...concern? "Can I, ask you something? If you're scared, how'd we get here? Pretty bold move for you."

"Castle...Rick...no. It isn't 'us' that scares me. I'm talking about work."

She was. Kate knew how it sounded, but-

"It's all the same thing," Castle believed. "Just like with Royce."

Her eyes widened at his implication, but she didn't deny it. "Figured that one out, huh?"

He shrugged. "I'm clever."

There was no humor there, and Kate wanted to kick herself for the horrible job she was doing-he wasn't getting it. "You can't compare us to whatever Royce and I were, trust me. So don't." She took a breath. "You're a better man than he is. I know, because you let me in, too. Royce never did. I told myself he did, because I thought I understood what that meant back then, but I was wrong."

Tapping him lightly on the arm, she felt his grip loosen, which allowed her to get off his lap and to her feet.

"Stand up," she said, facing him.

He looked half-frightened as he obeyed. "Um...'kay."

"So I can do this, you idiot." She drew him into a close, strong hug. "What's scary is thinking about how much fun I'm having, how glad I am that we both just figured, 'What the hell?' and didn't second guess ourselves...and _then_ thinking, 'What happens if the next bullet doesn't miss?' That's all this is, I promise."

"Then don't think about it," he said obviously. "I'll help. I've mastered not thinking."

She smirked into his shoulder. "...Nah, too easy."

He was right, though. She had to work on not thinking about it. There was nothing else she could do.

"That...that sounded more impressive in my head," he assured her.

She bit back a laugh. "Should be the title of your autobiography."

"Too bad I already have the perfect one picked out."

She lifted her head to lean in toward his. "I'm shocked."

"Join the club," said a voice that was neither of theirs.

They ended the hug, but didn't move away. They turned to see the entirely too pleased faces of Detectives Ryan and Esposito. The latter was who'd spoken.

But then Ryan winced. "This is almost as bad as catching my parents doin' it when I was ten."

* * *

Everyone stared at the tiny Irish man.

"_Dude_." Esposito looked like he was considering just what was wrong with his friend. "Now I'll never be able to look your Mom and Dad in the eye again. Thanks, thanks a lot."

"Yeah," Ryan recalled the trauma, "for the whole last half of fourth grade, I couldn't either."

"There a reason you two are here, or what?" Kate glared their way.

"The free booze," they answered as one.

"But that can wait. Can't it, Detective Esposito?"

"Oh, absolutely, Detective Ryan."

The two detectives began walking in a slow, continuous circle around Kate and Castle.

Ryan put on a Cheshire Cat grin. "Soooo...whatcha doin'?"

"And how long you been doin' it for?" Esposito followed up.

"I _was_ having an intimate, _private_ moment with my partner," Kate revealed with unashamed ease. "Something I've-we've-done plenty for the last month."

"And four days," Castle added, always one for detail.

"No kidding," clucked Ryan, after mouthing the word, "intimate" together with Esposito to make sure they'd heard correctly. "That long?"

"Sounds kinda serious," deduced Esposito.

"What if it is? Got a problem with that?" Kate dared them.

Esposito put up his hands. "Hey, it's your lives."

"And, problem? Who would have a problem?" Ryan wondered less than innocently.

"Who indeed."

"Certainly not Lanie. I mean, even if we weren't good enough to be allowed in the 'share circle,' I'm sure she was. She's had to know for a while."

"Dunno, bro. Think I woulda I heard about it before tonight if she does. Least gotten a hint. Somethin'."

"Huh, didn't think of that. Maybe you should call her and ask."

"Good idea."

'Oh, crap,' Kate thought before stalking toward Esposito as he pulled his cell from his jacket.

"Esposito, give me the phone. _Now_." Her eyes narrowed, full of threats. "Or we collect our winnings _from the Bet_."

That stopped him cold. Castle grinned deviously at the turn of events.

Ryan also was no longer so cocky. "Whoa, what? Hang on a second..."

"Thought we decided. It was a draw," Esposito reminded the other duo.

"Yeah, but it was a pity decision," Castle reminded them in return.

"Hey, let's not do anything rash, here." Ryan attempted to play peacemaker. "No one has to call anyone."

Esposito nodded. "We just wanna hear you say it, Beckett."

"Say what?" She asked them coolly.

"'Richard Castle is my...'" Ryan helpfully got it going.

"...partner," Kate finished, knowing that wasn't what they wanted. "And among other things? I've decided to spend my _private_, personal time, making out with him. Don't see what the big deal is." In an abrupt one-eighty, she suddenly came off casual. That was never good. "You should know what it's like, right fellas?"

Passing her now dumbfounded, slack-jawed team members with Castle at her side biting hard on his bottom lip in an effort to contain himself, she swiftly nabbed the cell phone out of Esposito's hand. He didn't even notice.

"Buy me a drink, Castle?" She smiled slyly.

Her partner threw his arm around her shoulders as they headed upstairs. "After that? I'm buying _you_ a bar."

Meanwhile, the boys were coming back around. They regarded one another silently a moment, getting a good look.

Until Esposito scoffed. "Like I'd ever go gay for you."

"Like I would?" Ryan retorted defensively. "I know where you've been."

"Aw, that's it." Esposito used his hardest, "bad cop" stare. "I've _gotta_ make the call. No choice."

Ryan smiled back at him, glancing at the other man's empty hand. "Best of luck."

He slapped Esposito on the back and turned to leave.

Esposito closed that hand into a fist. "_Damn_. Beckett!"


	4. Saturday

Thanks to Donna for the LJ rec, and thanks to everybody who's still reading. :D Hope you still like it.

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"You didn't tell me either!"

"Oh, don't you even try acting like this isn't in a whole 'nother freakin' stratosphere!"

"You know what? Let's say it is. Wonder what the reason could possibly be? Maybe it's that nobody wanted to make a profit off of when you'd throw Esposito on a slab and examine him for rigor mortis..._in his pants_."

Two women glared at each other from opposite sides of a bare, autopsy table...

...and then burst into hysterical laughter.

Forty-eight hours after her man got outplayed by his boss/her best friend, medical examiner Lanie Parish had to start off her weekend by coming into work and medically examining the body Karpowski caught in this morning's wee hours.

She'd just finished sliding the vic back in a drawer when Detective Kate Beckett had the nerve to waltz in. But how could she stay mad? This meant she still won.

"Seriously though? Girl, I am impressed," she gave kudos when their laughter died. "Pullin' the fool over our eyes as long as you did? Javi and I could've used that kinda skill. Because I knew it! I knew that was the day you two finally just let the damn thing happen, but no matter how hard I looked for that _tiny _something extra, I couldn't prove it.

"How the hell did you never slip? You or Castle? Surprised he didn't fly himself around the city in the world's gaudiest-looking hot air balloon, beltin' out the news through a big-ass bullhorn."

Kate held in another laugh, though her frame shook. "I guess we just really wanted to keep us...between us." She added hesitantly, "Kinda still do."

Lanie's arms crossed over her chest. "That better not mean what it sounds like it means."

"Not forever, but, let me have this a little while longer?" Kate asked hopefully.

So that was what it was like. And already. Woo boy.

"'Bout we split those profits? Sixty-forty," was Lanie's somewhat desperate counter-offer.

"_Lanie_."

"You're lucky I love you." The other woman heaved a giant sigh, and then narrowed her eyes. "All right. You enjoy your cozy, _secluded_ new life, playin' house in Richie-Rich's loft o' luuve. But I swear, if you go and get yourself hitched without me-"

"Well..."

"Kate Beckett!" Lanie exclaimed after a gasp, facing an unapologetically evil grin. "What has that man done to you?" She double-checked...no ring.

"Nothing I didn't do to him. Two nights ago. For the first time." Kate's evil grin was still in place, even as she pretended to look interested in the ceiling. "Up 'til then? I _thought_ I knew what 'thorough' was, but..."

"Bitch," Lanie sniped with a smile that slowly wilted. "Hold it. The first...? You've spent the last month-"

"-and six days-" Kate butted in.

"-gettin' _intimate_ with the guy whose fantasies we both know you've got dog-eared more than once, the guy you staked a claim on from just about the day you met, and you only sexed him up _two nights ago_?"

Lanie walked around the table, took Kate by the elbow, turned her around, and pointed at the doors. "Walk that pasty behind the hell outta my morgue. Get!"

"What? Why?"

"'Cause, something's wrong with you. And since I'm not hearing any details, I don't think anything else needs to be said." Then the smile was back. "Oh, and honey? Thanks. You two are paying for my next 'Me' day."

"Hope you spoil yourself," smirked Kate.

"Ooh, I will-nice and rotten. Don't you worry," promised Lanie, gathering the infuriating detective into a hug. "Almost forgot...congratulations on remembering how to open your eyes."

"I'm sorry, which one of us is the bitch?" Kate lightly accused.

"The press isn't gonna back down so easy, you know," Lanie sing-songed, releasing her. "You ready to smile for Page Six?"

What was with the grinning? "We're getting ready."

The good doctor grew suspicious. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll have to read the story in the paper like everyone else," Kate winked as her phone began chirping. She answered it. "Alexis? Hey, what's up? ... Yeah, I'm on my way back now. I needed a break from the mountain of paperwork on my desk, so I stopped to torture La-"

Lanie mouthed, "You. Def-in-ite-ly" as Kate's eyes widened, still listening to Alexis on the other end.

"You are? When did you...? ... You're hiding where?"

Kate gave a quick wave and mouthed, "Bye" on her way out.

"And the congregation says amen to _that_," Lanie announced to no one a second later, shaking her head.

* * *

"Lex? You in here?"

"Kate?" Alexis unlocked the handicap, bathroom stall she'd hunkered down inside, and flew out. "Oh my god. Thankyouthankyouthankyou! Is he still out there?"

The detective took her by the shoulders. "Who?"

"Detective Esposito," she whispered nervously.

"I think I saw him in the..." Kate trailed off, finally connecting at least two of the dots. "You're hiding from Esposito? Why?"

"Because Dad's apparently 'in the Walden zone' today and can't stop writing, and since Ashley's in the Poconos this weekend visiting his grandparents, I wanted to see if you had time to go to lunch or something," said the breathless redhead.

"Then when I got here, Detective Esposito handed me this," she pulled a small, flash drive from her pocket and gave it over like it burned, "and asked me to make sure it found its way into Dad's stuff. He, um, also offered me twenty dollars to make sure you wouldn't know where it came from."

Her eyes darted around, paranoid. It was supposed to be so simple. Come to the precinct, take Kate to lunch, thank her for the millionth time for saving her relationship (the, "when I say I love you, I wanna know it isn't high school love" argument was brilliantly reasoned), and make fun of her dad. Affectionately.

But...but...

Kate's jaw tightened. "Did he?" Her mouth fell open as she figured out what must've been on the drive. "That son of a..." Beat. "You take his money?"

"Um, yes?" Alexis confessed guiltily, staring at her feet.

"Good," approved Kate, and the girl's head snapped up. "Though I would've held out for more."

Alexis wasn't unburdened, however. "But now he thinks I left, because you weren't here and I told him I gonna do it. Even though I _swear_ I never was."

Kate was quizzical. "So instead of leaving you decided to hide out in our bathroom?"

"I panicked! I couldn't go back home with it, because I suck at lying to my dad; he so would've known something was up the second he looked at me," Alexis explained in a rush. "They said you were at the morgue, and I was gonna go there, but, I usually like having an appetite at lunchtime."

Kate smiled. "Can't argue with that. Okay, come on." She moved to the door, Alexis cautiously following. "When I give the signal, run for the stairs. Don't trust the elevator-especially on a Saturday. I'll meet you in the garage in a few minutes, and then we'll go. Food suddenly sounds like a terrific idea; I forgot to eat when I was out. I'm starving."

"Isn't your lunch break over? I thought you had to work."

"Not _had to_ exactly...I thought since we were in between cases, I'd try to be proactive, maybe turn my mountain into a...slightly smaller mountain. And because I'm..." The devil in Kate happily flashed back to her conversation with Lanie. "..._mean,_ I made the guys come in, too.

"But I haven't done anything today. Except drive an M.E. crazy, and play an unhealthy amount of 'Angry Birds'...which is all your father's fault, because he's the one who put it on my phone to begin with."

She frowned-that was letting him off easy. "No, wait. It's his fault for not only making the whole idea of procrastination seem pretty damn appealing, but for making it seem like a legitimate alternative. There, that's better," she nodded decisively.

For the first time, Alexis smiled. "Kind of ironic that he's being such a workaholic today then, huh?"

"It's real easy to forget you're a 'Castle' sometimes, y'know that?"

* * *

"There you are," Martha Rodgers said to her busy son back at the loft, gliding into his office. "My, you're still at it? That woman truly is your muse, isn't she?"

"And has been for a while now." Rick's gaze left the laptop screen to meet his parent's. "Is everything okay, Mother? Not skipping your Ginkgo supplements again, are you?"

"I'm sure I don't remember," she answered drolly, helping herself to the seat in front of his desk.

"Nice," he had to compliment her. "Nice." Then he conceded, "I suppose inspiration has been striking more often recently."

"You haven't been this prolific in ten years," she bluntly pronounced.

He closed his eyes. Rick thought he'd be used to this by now. "There it is." He opened his eyes back up, and put on a smile. "The ability I've been in awe of my entire life-rolling a compliment and an insult all into a single, quietly deceiving sentence."

"It's simply a fact, darling," she downplayed. "And I'm thrilled for you, I really am...even if the greatest writing, the most memorable, timeless writing, never comes when its author is content."

"Still in awe. Though you do lose points for not being as concise with that one. Too wordy."

He started typing again.

"So, where has Alexis run off to? Out with friends?" His mother asked before he'd finished the next word.

"Close-out with Beckett. She was going to try to take her to lunch." His smile reached his eyes. "Considering how every text I've gotten today has been some variation on how bored out of her mind our favorite detective is, I told Alexis she probably had the right idea."

"And you aren't there with them, monitoring every word?"

"Why would I need to? They've spent time together without me before. Besides, Kate's the one woman I _want_ influencing my daughter."

Oough. He ducked behind his laptop, not daring to look at Martha's face. Landmine, landmine, landmine...

"And, you, of course." He coughed, not selling it terribly well.

He risked a peek. Martha looked disappointed...

"I've never been more glad that I didn't push you to pursue the Craft."

...that he couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.

Rick straightened up again. "Again, I hafta ask, are you _sure_ you aren't skipping those supplements? Because there's 'selective memory,' and then there's 'Martha Memory.'"

"Suggesting once, in passing, that your Peter Pan would have been a revelation had you bothered to audition instead of choosing to spend the afternoon swallowing woodchips-"

"They shouldn't call them chips! It's misleading!" He pleaded his case. "I wasn't the only kid whose innocence died a little that day."

"Rather than endure any more examples of my supposed, early and utterly traumatic support for your inner-artist," He was prepared to recite them, she knew, "let's gracefully leave this tangent behind, shall we?"

"...Agreed," he mumbled like the small, woodchip-consuming child he once was.

"Wonderful. Now, it isn't that I thought you'd be concerned for Alexis' welfare. Personally, it's a relief to know she'll have a woman like Kate Beckett to turn to, when I've taken that final bow." She waved off whatever reply he had, especially since it looked like it wasn't going to be funny. "I thought you'd be more concerned about which embarrassing stories she may decide to remember. Given the...growth of your partnership, new as it is."

"Stories like the 'woodchips incident,' you mean?" He questioned her rhetorically, lowering the laptop's lid. "Kate's going to hear all my secrets eventually. I'm not hiding anything; don't wanna. Not from her. No matter how embarrassing."

She wagged her finger at him, pride settling over her features. "That, right there? Is why I haven't poked my photogenic schnoz in until now, and why I won't be making it a habit. Keep that attitude, kiddo, because it's a rare thing in life, finding someone you don't feel you've gotta...act for. All the world's a stage, but the two of you are more than merely players."

Did his mother honestly just do that? "The Bard might not be turning over in his grave, but I'll bet it's under consideration."

"Well it's true."

"I know," he agreed again, more readily.

"Then you better hang onto one another as long as you can," she advised him strongly. "Love her, let her love you...and never be afraid to step down offstage and reveal the man beyond the dust-jacket."

She smiled sadly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "If you learn anything from me or my cowardice, learn from that mistake."

Man. He'd thought she'd finally dealt with Chet's death. "Mother, I'm-"

For the second time, she waved him off. "The spotlight's all yours today." She stood, coming around the desk to sincerely say, "I meant it, Richard. I am thrilled for you. Thrilled and relieved. Ya done good." She patted his shoulder and ruffled his hair.

"Thanks, Mom," he smiled, grateful for her approval even now. "Ah-ah-ah! Peeking is forbidden; I'll revoke your plastic privileges."

Martha had just tried to lift the lid without permission. That wouldn't do.

"Oh no," she shook her head. "The last time you wouldn't let me see what you were writing, it wound up published in Penthouse Forum under a ridiculous, obvious pseudonym."

"Never tell me why, or how, you knew about that." He just experienced a bad case of acid reflux. "You can relax. This isn't destined for the hallowed pages of Penthouse."

"What is it then? More Nikki Heat?"

"Just...something we're working on. To help us get ready."

As she started badgering him with questions, the devil in Richard Castle was what brought the grin to his face.

* * *

"HiDadbyeDad!" Alexis called as she raced upstairs several hours later, phone pressed to her ear.

"Ashley?" Castle asked Kate as she closed the door to the loft behind her.

"You _are_ clever," she snarked. "He called her on the way here."

"Hey," she greeted softly as she made it to where he sat on the sofa, and actually saw him.

"Hey," he returned, setting his laptop aside.

Kate leaned down to meet his lips. As with every other time they'd done this, they experienced a moment of disbelief, because she was Beckett, he was Castle and how was it this easy? Then they got to the next moment where they were glad they let it be.

In tandem, "Missed me, didn'tcha?"

Kate made a face. "If we weren't us, I'd think we were kinda creepy."

"Could be worse. At least we're not kooky," he said. "Or mysterious and spooky. And all together..."

Castle double-snapped his fingers; she rolled her eyes.

Her head collapsed tiredly onto his. "God it's been a long day...and it isn't even three o'clock." And she didn't _do anything_.

"Sit. Write with me."

Even if it wasn't a future, best-selling novel, she still loved hearing those words. For him to invite her in on what was such a private, personal thing...she wouldn't lie, she was...touched. Plus, long before she knew him, before she imagined being with him, she imagined what it'd be like getting to write with him.

She slipped her heels off, flopped on the sofa beside him, and eagerly asked, "How's it going?"

He looked like a proud, mad scientist. "Gotta love it when a plan comes together."

Kate rested her hand on her thigh, feeling her full pocket. She'd put the flash drive in there.

...

...

...

Okay. If he could share personal and private things, so could she. No matter how embarrassing.

"Um, before we...dive in..." She smiled at her unintentional callback.

"Was Alexis really that exhausting?"

"Not half as much as you are." She flicked his forehead. "No, we had a good time; we always do. There's just, something I wanna show you first."

He covered his skin to protect against repeated attacks. "Show me? Show me what?"

"Some...pictures. That I was in. A _long_ time ago." She laid out that first breadcrumb, and watched his brain crash and reboot.

He swallowed. "What...kind of pictures?"

"The kind that, after you've seen them," she fished out the drive, and his eyes were glued to it, "we're adding to the list."

"Of things we're never talking about again?"

"Bingo. Now give me the," he was obliging her request before she completed it, "laptop."

Kate wouldn't hide, and Esposito wouldn't get his revenge.

While she plugged in the drive, he posed, "What's your stance on woodchips? Pro, con?"

* * *

That evening, Esposito would have two texts waiting.

One from Castle:

~OMG! Guys! You'll never guess what **KB** just showed me!~

And one from Ryan:

~Be a beautiful funeral, dude. Promise ;)~

Reading them, he would decide to call in sick Monday.


	5. The 54th Night

Thanks again as always everyone. Hope you like this one, too. Might be the last for a while, unless I think of something else worth writing.

To FanficWriterGHC and Sandiane: still loving the stories, I've just been trying hard to get this done. :D

To Casketty: The pictures were the Beckett's modeling photos from S2, Ep3. :-)

* * *

Castle usually loved this part. Sitting beside Beckett at the interrogation room table, an uncomfortable killer sitting opposite, as they set out to draw a confession. Usually he and Beckett were of one mind about their bad guy. This case, however, found their opinions somewhat at odds. That said, she still wanted him on her side of the glass.

He'd play his angle, she'd play hers. At least they would cover their bases this way.

Castle started, telling the huddled man who wouldn't meet their eyes, "You stole your daughter's phone—"

"—texted Mark, pretended you were her, got him to come over, left the front door unlocked—" Then Beckett came in.

Back to him. "—waited in her room with that amazing mansion of a dollhouse you made for her, thinking about how she still kept it right there on the shelf, even though she'd outgrown it years ago. You probably still remember the smile on her face, don't you? How it made it all worth it."

To her again. "Building it after twelve-hour shifts on the docks, six days a week, sacrificing for her, so she'd have a, _richer_ life than yours."

It wasn't just "good cop/bad cop" they were playing. Castle was giving him the benefit of the doubt, motivation-wise. He saw a man who acted out of love for his daughter, because he would have, if their places were reversed. Beckett just saw a man, selfish as any other.

"So you sat on her bed, just staring at that tangible memory of the little girl she used to be. Your little girl," Castle spoke with empathy. "Who grew up to be incredibly, unbelievably smart."

"More than smart enough to earn herself a full ride. She had everything ahead of her, and you saw it all long before she did, didn't ya, Carl?" Beckett's voice took on an accusatory edge.

"Everything you wanted her to be, everything you wanted her to have...like that mansion. Bet you wanted it to be real someday. But then Mark came along." Castle knew what it was like when a boyfriend suddenly entered the picture, and knew the fears that came with it. For Carl, one of those fears had been well-founded. "And now? Rosie's life is five months away from becoming an entirely different type of real."

"He got her pregnant, and when she said she wasn't getting rid of their baby, he just..." Beckett's features hardened as she leaned closer in. "...cast her aside, like the damaged goods she is."

Castle was still taking the empathetic route. "As if destroying her future wasn't unforgivable enough. What father worthy of the title would stand for that? If it were my daughter? Know I wouldn't.

"He had to pay. _Had to_. Mean, c'mon, he certainly wasn't worthy. He didn't even _want_ the title." And that was it for his version of the story.

Now it was time for Beckett to finish hers. "Guys like him, they'll move on to the next girl, then the one after that, and the one after that, not caring about who else might be getting screwed in their wake.

"So by the time Mark walked in, you knew there was no going back. You were seeing red. You started beating him to death before he could figure out what was happening. He couldn't defend himself. Never had a chance."

They both waited for Carl to say something, anything, but he remained mute. The only sound was his foot steadily tapping on the floor.

Writers' curiosity overtook Castle then, as he set aside his previous subjectivity. "I've gotta know...using that old, toy baton from her closet—thanks for not wearing gloves, by the way—symbolic? Or just convenient?"

"He's a writer. He likes symbolism," Beckett explained, leaning back.

He nodded. "She's right, I do. Almost as much as irony. And creating new onomatopoeia."

"Me, I don't really care about the possible, symbolic significance of murder weapons. What I do care about? Is that the object that did that," she pointed at the photos of the body she'd put out before they'd begun, "to my victim's face, more than proves you're guilty, and that we haven't been wasting our time, or the city's."

"Cops—all they read are Miranda rights," Castle shook his head, faux-pity in his words. "Talk about unimaginative prose."

"They get the point across. Which reminds me—"

Carl looked up all of a sudden, and his foot made no more noise. There was no remorse in his face, no sadness-simply anger. "Ya plan somethin' all out, bust your ass to make it happen, suck up to the right people, owe a few favors, thinkin', 'Just hang in a little longer. Kid'll be your ticket soon enough; she'll do right by you.' 'Til some smug, little piss-ant gets her to spread her legs."

Just like that, Carl proved Beckett right. He wasn't worthy of the title, either. The detective shot a fast, "sorry" look over to her partner.

"I'd kill him again."

As she rapped on the two-sided mirror behind her and Castle, Carl was realizing what he admitted. "I sincerely hope your grandson's lucky enough to never know who you are."

A pair of uniformed officers entered the room and pulled him out of the chair. One cuffed him.

"Carl Davies, you're under arrest for the murder of Kyle Simms," Beckett advised. "You have the right to remain-"

"I want a lawyer," Carl cut her off in a panic.

Castle brought a finger to his lips. "Ssh, she's getting to that part. Anyway, little late, isn't it?"

* * *

About a half-an-hour later, Beckett sat at her desk, crossing her "t's" and dotting her "i's" on the post-case paperwork. Castle sat with her, parked in his usual chair. She knew this one got to him and was getting to him still, as evidenced by the contemplative silence.

In the beginning, she knew it made him question how far he'd be capable of going, if Alexis were in the same situation as Rose Davies. Of course, that was when he was holding onto the belief that Carl was just a good father who'd snapped. Now that that wasn't it?

Beckett suspected her partner was lost in his thoughts, trying to understand how Carl could use his daughter so selfishly. How he could lie his way through a relationship that Castle cherished, for two decades. How he could have no emotional ties to his own flesh and blood.

She didn't know what to say. But she knew Castle always talked when he was ready. Maybe when he was, she'd come up with something.

Beckett happened to glance down at her father's watch just then, eyes panicking a bit upon seeing the time. "Castle, it's six o'clock."

Her voice brought him back to the world outside his head. She showed him her wrist.

"The big hand and the little hand do seem to think so, yes," he agreed, his trademark smile somewhat confused as to why that was important.

She answered his smile and light, smart-assed-ness with a, "I'm going to wipe that smile away" glare. "Any guesses what they'll think an hour from now?"

He hissed through his teeth, clamping shut his lids while it came back to him. When he spoke again, he slowly opened one eye. "That...I better be at that book signing, or my 'Emma Frost' of an ex-wife is going to castrate me? Slowly, painfully, skillfully?"

"You? Who cares about you?" She questioned dismissively. "Ever since we decided to let her and Paula in on everything, she's been waiting for the sky to fall. Like I'm going to slaughter her cash cow, her career..." She took a frustration-reducing breath. "If you don't make it to that bookstore, who do you think she's gonna blame?"

Beckett respected Gina, she did. And she was sure the respect was mutual. At least on a professional level. They were confident, committed women who'd managed to claim some measure of authority in their chosen fields. It was an accomplishment to be admired.

On a personal level? She wanted to have a perfectly legal reason to lay Gina out. All the tension came not from Gina being Castle's ex twice over, but from being his publisher. The former she could understand. The latter she just found cold. Like Carl Davies.

Gina worried that if the readers knew Castle was taken for good, they'd jump ship. A majority liked to believe that the single, commitment-phobic playboy could possibly, one day, if they were very, very lucky, sleep with them. But if he settled down, truly settled down, he'd become just another husband, and they already had one of those.

Gina even had figures worked out. It belittled his talent, and was based on a stereotype that the woman herself disproved. But the part where she more or less said Castle wasn't going anywhere anytime soon? Beckett didn't mind so much.

"I'm partial to 'golden goose,'" said Castle after her mini-rant, turning to face her more. "F.Y.I."

"What, you don't like the idea of going to 'Bovine University'?" She smirked, then pretended to think about it. "No...that's not it. You don't like the idea of being," In a lightning move, her hand reached for his chest, and pinched down on it over his shirt, "_milked_."

"OwOwOwOwOwOw! Tangerines! Pears! Watermelons! Pine..._apples_!"

She decided that didn't count as a safeword. Boy, for a man with no pain threshold whatsoever... "Some masochist."

"You-you can let go. Anytime now," he tried to smile while wincing. "Pretty please with...money on top?"

Her vice grip immediately ended at the promise of cash. "There's the magic word." When she went to pat his cheek, out of fear, he covered the sensitive areas of his chest protectively. "We'll discuss how steep my mercy runs, another time. Wouldn't want you to be late."

"My nipples are already eternally grateful. Too grateful to haggle," he glowered as her grin broke. "Oh, and...me. Ultimately, without fail, Gina always blames me. It's her favorite pastime."

"Whaddaya know? It's also mine."

"Except when you do it, it's somehow endearing."

"Still, all this time, and Gina and I could've been bonding."

A chill went up both their spines at that statement.

Standing, Castle saw it as his duty to help them forget she'd ever said such a thing. "So! Later-your place? Little Chow-Fun, little wine, and watching the fifth season of a certain comedy goldmine, from a certain, underrated, basic cable network, 'til our sides hurt?"

Beckett stood as well, incredulous. "Are you kidding me right now? The DVD isn't even out yet."

"Beckett, Beckett, Beckett...no one watches DVDs anymore," he replied, ashamed for her. "We live in the 'Streaming Age.' Netflix, Vudu, Amazon-the choices are vast and many. Join me there."

"Not until you've earned your keep," she reminded him, linking their arms as she led him to elevator—to make sure he got there. "Remember to smile and look pretty."

"Remember something I just can't help? Why?" He asked her like he thought it would be a complete waste of time, smiling. "You aren't wrong, though. That's half my job."

His smile weakened. He was being pulled into his head again.

She noticed. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he said, unable to suppress the sigh. "Just, trying to get in the mood to be me."

Beckett had always thought it was easy for him to switch gears from murder to frivolity. He made it seem that way so often. But in the almost two months they'd been together now, she saw the toll it took on him. Especially (like she'd figured) this case.

It was time to say something. He couldn't go to a signing with this weighing on him. As the new covers of Heat Wave proclaimed, he had a soon-to-be motion-picture to drum up interest for.

At the elevator, she told him, "If Davies was really the kind of father you told yourself he was? He wouldn't be headed for Sing-Sing in the morning. He'd be back home, helping Rosie get ready to be a mom. But he isn't, and she'll have to do it all on her own."

"I know," he nodded, "but part of me still thought..."

Some dark, fiercely protective, parental part, thought Carl had the right idea.

"Part of me did too, and I don't even have a kid," she admitted before quipping, "Some days it might feel like I do..."

"Is it a crime to be young at heart?" He asked, enjoying the lightness of the moment.

"If it is, then I'm a daily embarrassment to the force," For not arresting him, "only, miraculously, no one's noticed yet."

"They're living in blissful ignorance—go with it," he suggested. "And, personally? I prefer to think of you as the best accomplice a guy could ask for. You know me...glass half-full."

Saying that last part on a down note, the moment ended.

"It doesn't matter how many different ways you've dreamt up to bump off Ashley if he and Alexis..." She left the blank unfilled as he seemed to go a little green. "You'd never act on them. Because you wouldn't wanna leave her."

She firmly believed he could never be Carl. Not if his daughter was alive. Seeing him agree, she didn't follow her thoughts down the alternative, rabbit hole.

"Davies didn't commit murder for his daughter; he did it because he threw twenty years of his life away on an 'investment' that suddenly wasn't gonna pay off, and Kyle Simms was the reason why."

"How'd I manage to completely misread him? Motive is my _thing_," he insisted, disappointed in himself.

"Easy...'cause you wanted to. Because you can't imagine being anything other than a great dad," she said simply.

He was smiling again, grateful. "Thank you."

"It's just the truth. But you're welcome."

She pressed the elevator's down button. Confirming they were alone as the doors opened, he expressed his gratitude further with a kiss. He'd be okay.

Beckett was happy to reciprocate, but soon was pushing him into the elevator. "Now scram. Go give the lonely, desperate housewives of New York who aren't obnoxious enough for TV, something to fantasize about. Hell, if gravity cooperates? Sign whatever you want. Then, after your hands have been thoroughly bleached, we'll get on with our night."

"Our night which will include...?"

"Oh yeah. You know that's right."

They were both, obviously, referring to visiting the best, fictional psychic detective agency in Santa Barbara.

* * *

Around an hour into Castle's signing, Kate sipped a coffee downstairs at the very bookstore where he was contractually obligated to appear. From her table, she looked over and saw the sign directing people upstairs to the Children's Storytime area. The signing was set up there.

She knew it was probably chosen for size reasons, but Kate still laughed at the oddly appropriate setting. She was glad for the spur of the moment decision to drive here rather than to her apartment. She had to, not that she understood why yet.

Pulling out her phone, she sent two, quick texts:

~No wonder you're so in love with yourself~

~Had to flash my badge, or I never would've gotten through the door~

Several minutes later (despite his being busy), she received a trio back in return:

~Illegally and without probable cause? YOU?~

~insert shocked/appalled emoticon here~

~Detective Beckett, you've gone mad with power! Mad!~

Smiling, she finished off her beverage before replying:

~Yeah, well, you would have too~

~The 'woman' who was ahead of me?~

~Biggest Ascot I've ever seen~

~Took everything I had not to just...BAM~

His answer was instant:

~Said my 'Lady'~

Her smile grew as he texted again:

~Should've told me you were coming~

~Where are you?~

She answered:

~Downstairs~

~Didn't know I was til I was halfway here~

~Surprised?~

It was another couple minutes before she got:

~Pleasantly~

~But if I didn't know better, I'd think you were checking up on me~

That invited her next text:

~Do I need to?~

Kate could picture his grin as she read:

~Only when we're playing Doctor~

She rolled her eyes, giving in to her inner-devil:

~I'm sure Lanie could spare some gloves...~

After five minutes of no response, she gave in again:

~Clenching only makes it worse, Castle~

After five minutes more passed, she tried:

~Aren't you gonna ask me why I came?~

He finally wrote back:

~Uh...being horrified by my own, traitorous imagination, atm~

She snickered to herself, telling him:

~You'll get used to it. I did~

Though she wasn't snickering when she said:

~If you need it, I have your back~

Typing it, she knew that was why she came. He was her partner in everything. Much as she valued a private life, she wanted to match that commitment. "They" were going to be public knowledge real soon, and she'd been coming to terms with what that entailed.

Eventually they'd go on a traditional date and dress nice and do things outside. She wanted to be able to; she wanted to meld intimate and big and not hide forever. Maybe this was a baby-step. A baby-step she wanted him to ask her to take, because he needed her to.

But, so he didn't get all emotional and look unhinged in front of his fan-base, she added:

~Plus, the coffee's fantastic~

His next written words were:

~Just knowing you're around is already helping~

~Lonelier up here than you'd think~

Then, somewhat unexpectedly, the same thought got expressed in synchronized texts:

~Screw the plan~ ~Screw the plan~

She felt the need to comment:

~CREEPY~

What was this Plan they'd been hatching? A story. A story that read more romantic on paper than a tossed off "love you" in a car, in a poorly-lit parking garage (you really kind of had to be there, anyway). A story that would fictionalize and embellish the details—but kept them on equal footing—so they could hoard reality for themselves.

It was an appealing idea they had fun fleshing out these past, few weeks. It would allow privacy, while putting a public face out there as a distraction. And for Castle specifically, it allowed him to counter Gina's reaction before Kate ever had to be subjected to it.

Everybody loved a good, "power couple" love story, and he wanted to convince Gina that his readers would forget about doing unspeakably naughty things to his person once they'd heard it. He _had_ convinced her. And all signs indicated that the press would eat it up, and sell it with enthusiasm.

Yet here they were less than a week from implementing their plan, and wanting to scrap it completely.

He asked:

~Are you sure?~

She wanted him to go first, so:

~Are you?~

These were his answer:

~The sky isn't going to fall~

~If my career survived my marriage to Gina, it can survive anything~

~People, these people, plotted her death on the msgboards A LOT more than I have Ashleys~

~Some I had to try very hard not to 'borrow' for a book~

~So gruesome~

~You? They adore~

She cocked a dubious brow:

~Nikki maybe~

~Not me~

~They don't even know me~

He got to the heart of their abrupt, cold feet:

~So introduce yourself~

~Got an empty chair~

~I've invented 2/3 of my own name, and a fair bit of my bio~

~I don't wanna invent us~

She agreed:

~Me neither~

Fun as it was to write the story together, he didn't want their relationship, even a fictionalized version, to be a cog in Black Pawn's "Richard Castle" publicity machine. And Kate didn't want to lie about their relationship, or deceive anyone, harmless as it might seem now. If the truth made life more difficult, more exposed, so be it.

She was her mother's daughter that way. Whatever happened, they'd deal with it. Might as well start tonight.

Kate asked:

~Do you want me up there with you?~

She should've expected his initial reply:

~I always want you~

~...With me~

And became resolved at his follow-up:

~Yes~

~But if you're not sure, it's okay~

Grabbing her empty cup, she put her phone away and glanced at the stairs.

* * *

As the store employee led Kate through the crowd of women either giving her the stink eye for thinking she was cutting the line, or gasping as they recognized her, her cop, poker face stayed in place. Reaching Castle and his table, he stood to pull out the second chair for her. They smiled at each other.

"I'm sure," she whispered as she sat, placing a fresh coffee down for him.

"And I didn't even save the city this week," he whispered back in thanks, returning to his seat.

He brought their hands together under the table in private support.

Kate brought them onto the table for all to see. "Teach me how to do this?"

An awed hush resounded throughout the room.

Castle knew what was coming. "Let the learning commence in three, two, one..."

Here went everything.


End file.
